


Contagious

by JRaylin441



Series: Briareus [17]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Magda is an anxious little butterfly who just wants to do her job, More shenanigans than hijinks, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7252039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRaylin441/pseuds/JRaylin441
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Magda was assigned as the secretary to work with Colonel Mustang's office, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. But it definitely wasn't this.</p>
<p><i>“I </i>said<i>, who’s your boss? Who’d you get?”</i></p>
<p>
  <i>“Oh.” She fumbled a notecard out of her pocket, where she had written down all the information about the new job. “Colonel Mustang, it says. Do you guys know him?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>French-Braid and Not-French-Braid cut a glance at each other and started to snicker.</i>
</p>
<p><i>“Do we </i>know him<i>, she asks.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Contagious

“Hey, you’re the new girl, right?”

Magda, almost finished filling out the sign-in sheet, scrawled the last information in a hurried print before turning around. The secretaries’ lounge, which had been empty when she had first come in, now had two other women in it. The one who had presumably spoken was sipping a cup of coffee and smiling at Magda over the rim. Her hair was pulled back in a flawless French braid and her skirt suit was perfectly pressed. _Don’t worry about it. You look fine._ Magda brushed her hands down her own skirt, checking for wrinkles. The other woman was standing just to her right, presumably waiting to sign in. She too looked very put-together. Moving out of the way, Magda flashed a small grin in the first woman’s direction.

“Yeah.” Was that her voice? Since when did it sound like a squeaking mouse? She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes, I’m new. My husband and I just moved down to East City for his job and I saw an ad in the paper.” The volume was better this time, and she was able to cut herself off before she started rambling, which was an unusual bonus.

“Aww. You’re pretty young to be married. Newlyweds?” It was the other woman, who had just finished signing in and was now making her way to the coffee pot. Magda didn’t normally drink coffee but that seemed to be the thing to do. She would make her way to the machine as soon as it would no longer look like she was simply trailing after Not-French-Braid.

“Yes.” _Do not ramble do not ramble_ do not _ramble._ “The ceremony was just last June. Tristan and I grew up together, though, so it’s like we’ve been together forever.” Already she could see the polite interest fading from their eyes. She went to get herself a cup of coffee.

“Cute.” French-Braid was now twirling a stirring stick in her cup absentmindedly. “So, who’s your boss?”

“Hmm?” There was no sugar that she could find, and she didn’t want to ask where it was, so she would just have to do without until someone else got a cup and took out the sugar. Her thoughts had distracted her from the conversation, though, which was an elementary mistake. She could kick herself.

“I _said_ , who’s your boss? Who’d you get?”

“Oh.” She fumbled a notecard out of her pocket, where she had written down all the information about the new job. “Colonel Mustang, it says. Do you guys know him?”

French-Braid and Not-French-Braid cut a glance at each other and started to snicker.

“Do we _know him_ , she asks.” It was French-Braid, giggling through her words.

“What’s funny?” A head ducked around the door to the lounge, and a girl with a neatly parted pixie cut breezed through, stopping first at the coffee pot (sugar was in the cabinet just above it. Why hadn’t Magda thought to look there?), and then swiping the pen lazily across the sign-in book. “I think it’s safe to say that I arrived at 8:59, don’t you all?” Everyone chorused an agreement, even though the clock said 9:03.

“So,” Pixie-Cut flopped into the seat next to her. “What were you all laughing at, New Girl?”

Magda was not sure why they had been laughing. To be honest, the whole situation was making her more than a little stressed out. What was so funny about her boss? Was he cruel? Dull? Did he overwork people?

“Our newlywed new girl was just telling us about her new boss.” Not-French-Braid cut in. “She’s working for Colonel _Mustang_.”

Another laugh. Pixie-Cut. “Oh, that’s harsh. A newlywed? He’s gonna wreck that.” Were they talking about Tristan now? Because Magda could take them making fun of her all day, but if they brought Tristan into this she would set them straight, no matter how much the idea of speaking out terrified her right now.

“I don’t know about that, Gemma.” Not-French-Braid said. “The ones who work _in his office_ never really seem to fall for him like the rest of us.” _Fall for him?!_ Magda had no intention of falling for anyone. She had met her fair share of attractive men over the years, but no one had ever been able to hold a candle to Tristan. There was nothing to worry about.

“You know, she’s right. Why do you think that is? Maybe it’s something to do with the ones he picks?” They all turned then, to stare at Magda. She felt like a display in a museum.

“Maybe it’s his eyes?” And now all the attention was back on Not-French-Braid. “I mean, they’re crazy intense. I think they might intimidate me if I was around them all day. Honestly, I don’t think I could ever work up the courage to, you know, _do_ anything if he were looking at me with those eyes.”

Pixie-Cut (or, Gemma, it seemed) was tilting her chair back in a blatant defiance of gravity. “I guess it just takes the right kind of person.”

“Oh, that’s right!” French-Braid was about to fly out of her seat with the force of her remembrance. “We never got to talk after that last Christmas party, and by the time I got back from Central I’d forgotten. You _have_ to tell me. What’s he _like_?”

A lascivious smirk grew on Gemma’s face, and everyone leaned forward. Even Magda felt herself drawn in, albeit reluctantly.

“Ahem.” There was another woman in the door. She was wearing a perfectly-maintained uniform with her blonde hair drawn back tight into a severe bun. She looked like the kind of person who could have stared Gemma down until she went back to change her sign-in time. “Which one of you is Magda Jollenbeck?”

Magda threw herself to her feet, managing to slop a bit of her coffee onto the floor. The woman flicked a glance at the puddle and then back at Magda, making her every opinion clear in that moment. Internally, she had a breakdown over whether she was supposed to go get a rag and wipe up the mess or leave it and follow after the woman. Just as she made up her mind to clean it up, the uniformed woman turned to leave. Too bad Magda’s dumb mind was already committed to its course of action. Watching in horror from her perspective on the out-of-body experience, Magda’s body rushed for some napkins and began to dab at the spill while the woman turned back around and waited for her to finish, one eyebrow raised.

When it was all over and Magda found herself back in control, she glanced fearfully at the woman while she tossed the napkins in the trashcan. The initially severe face was eased by the hint of a smile, and the woman headed out the door with the words _follow me_ lightly tossed over her shoulder.

Oh. Well. Somehow it was all for the better, then. Magda scrambled after her.

* * *

Magda had been settled into her desk, just outside the main office for Colonel Mustang’s team. It was a week into the job at this point, and she was finally feeling settled. She knew how to take messages from the phone, how to take reports from Lieutenant Hawkeye down to Damon in the basement, and how to determine which messages were actually worth passing on to the manager-of-all-things-productive, Hawkeye.

She had also, of course, met Colonel Mustang. And holy crap, those women hadn’t been lying. The man was drop-dead gorgeous and he knew it. He was the epitome of cultured and collected. Like a model to be photographed for a textbook on being a successful adult. They were also right about the eyes. Because the man was only a few years older than Magda, but one look in his eyes made her feel like a little kid again. No, she had no desire to even _try_ to set foot in the mess that was most likely that man’s life.

“Hello. Are you the new secretary?” She looked up from her latest slip of paperwork (who knew there was so much involved in military jobs) to see a hulking suit of armor looming over her desk. With great strength of will, she suppressed her shriek of surprise.

“Um, y-y-yes. That’s me. I’m secretary. Sorry! I’m the new. Crap. The new secretary. I’m the new secretary.” She was going to have to get better at this at some point. While one part of her mind threw itself into panicked worrying about how this terrifying man would react to her inarticulate answer, the other part watched on in resignation. If she was going to embarrass herself every time she opened her mouth, it was about time to accept it.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Behind the man, the door to Colonel Mustang’s office opened and closed. It was really Magda’s job to make sure that no one went in without checking in with her, but there was no way she was going to take her eyes off this one. It’s not like Lieutenant Hawkeye would ever let anyone get close enough to the Colonel to hurt him anyway.

Before she had another chance to wreck a conversation, however, a scream rent the air.

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL HE COULD BE CRUSHED BY A BLADE OF GRASS?! I’LL TELL YOU _EXACTLY_ WHERE YOU CAN _SHOVE IT_ YOU _BASTARD_. WHEN I GET THROUGH WITH-“ the voice carried on, and the man in the suit of armor gave a small sigh, but before she could freak out too much, the door to the out office cracked open and Breda peaked his head out.

“Hey, Newbie. You’re gonna want to see this.” Unable to help her curiosity, Magda levered herself to her feet and slipped in the door, forgetting in her worry to think about the man walking in behind her. As she leaned against a wall, the screaming wound down. A low voice spoke next, too calmly to be heard through a door, but the first voice responded with a wordless shout of rage.

“Alphonse,” Hawkeye was looking at the man. “You might want to get in there before your brother does something that will require me to shoot him.”

“Already on it, Lieutenant.” As the armor creaked over to the inner office, there was a flash of blue light from under the door. Lieutenant Hawkeye and ‘Alphonse’ heaved separate sighs while Havoc and Breda whooped with joy, slapping a high-five.

“FULLMETAL!” This was not a scream. This was a bellow. The door flew open and a kid barely in his teens came charging out, cackling. Behind him hurtled…Colonel Mustang. Honestly, if they hadn’t come out of the man’s office, Magda wasn’t sure that she would have recognized him. His normally (extremely sexy, but that was not the point) strikingly black hair had been bleached a powdery white. The effect was automatic and inevitable. The man who was regarded in headquarters as the epitome of virility now looked like an old man. The white hair highlighted the dark bags under his eyes that Magda hadn’t noticed until this moment. She felt a strange urge to make him sit down and drink a cup of tea.

Of course, Colonel Mustang was having none of that. Despite his appearance, he was still quite in-shape, and the man that Magda had grown to respect as a model of composure over the past week was now sprinting through the office. His hair was in utter disarray, and was already starting to stick to his forehead with sweat. His chase after the boy led to madcap adventures across the tops of desks and under the arch that Breda and Havoc were creating with their arms.

“ _Stop running and change it back! Fullmetal! That’s an ORDER!_ ”

The Fullmetal kid had clambered up to perch on top of the suit of armor and was dodging Colonel Mustang’s furious grabs. Each movement caused the poor man to sway precariously.

“Change it back yourself! Aren’t you supposed to be an alchemist? I just removed the melanin!” Eventually, the balance had to tip, and the whole thing came tumbling down. The poor Colonel was crushed under the seven foot tall hunk of metal.

“Fullmetal.” The rage from earlier had cooled into a cold ire that laced Colonel Mustang’s tone. “Change. It. Back.” The words fell like gunshots into the room. Magda resisted the urge to press herself further against the wall and noticed that Fuery had already done so. The only one who seemed totally unaffected was Lieutenant Hawkeye.

And, it turned out, Fullmetal. With one last cackle, he clapped his hands and touched them to the floor. Blue lightening sparked as the floor rose up to wrap around the commanding officer’s feet. Before anyone could react, the kid grabbed onto the leather gloves of the armored man and rushed out of the room.

“That’s what you get for calling me short!” Laughed the explosion of a boy.

“I’m so sorry for everything!” Called his brother.

“Someone get me a piece of chalk,” growled the Colonel.

* * *

 

The weeks flew past and such events became commonplace. Most days the office worked with a quiet efficiency. Aside from Havoc and Breda, the department was a picture of decorum and dignity. Then, once in a while, Edward Elric would return from a mission. Colonel Mustang insulted Major Elric’s height. Ed, in return, would hide the man’s desk chair, doodle on his face when he slept, or, on one particularly memorable occasion, transmute the standard military uniform into one with a miniskirt (it had taken much longer than normal to get Hawkeye to assist in the fixing of that situation and, when all was said and done, Colonel Mustang had reigned fury upon his subordinate. _Why Ed, I believe you are allowing your wilderness survival skills to fall out of practice. Don’t you think it’s about time we did something about that?_ ).

Finally, there came a morning when she entered the secretaries’ lounge and found an unfamiliar face. Odette and Pepin (then French-Braid and Not-French-Braid) started the interrogation and explanation almost immediately.

“You’ve got Arick, and he’s right down the hall from Colonel Mustang, you lucky duck. He’s pretty much the sexiest man to grace this earth.” Ah, Odette and her way with words. “Ask Magda. She gets to work _with his office_. Honestly, I don’t know how you get anything done over there.”

Three faces turned eagerly towards hers, waiting for an explanation. Magda looked from one to another, threw her head back, and _laughed_.


End file.
